


Until I Reach You

by Fenix21



Series: S12E1 Keep Calm and Carry On Coda Collection [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean's righteous big brother rage, Emotional Hurt, Episode: s12e01 Keep Calm and Carry On, Hurt!Sam, M/M, Mary trying to figure out her boys, Wincest - Freeform, and kinda sorta some comfort?, episode coda, episode fix-it but not really, implied established relationship, little bit of a psychic bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:31:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenix21/pseuds/Fenix21
Summary: The bond between brothers is a whole lot deeper than anyone knows.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because I have always been inclined to believe there was at least a little psychic bond between my boys.
> 
> This was inspired by my lovely lady [Lochinvar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lochinvar/pseuds/Lochinvar) when she asked me to 'FIX IT!' concerning our poor Sammy left sitting bereft on the stairs believing his brother is dead and there is no rescue coming. I'm not sure this is quite what she had in mind, or that it truly qualifies as a fix-it because I believe the only real fix-it would be, as [Linden](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Linden) pointed out, some serious brother cuddles, and this doesn't have that. So.

_Screw you._

He'd made it his own personal mantra. It was on loop inside his head and probably the only thing keeping him from breaking down right here on the dusty, creaking stairs of this mildewed and musty basement. 

He should have known she'd come with a weapon, did know she'd come with a weapon, and at this point he was damn lucky it wasn't a gun. Although, she didn't seem to want him dead. She did keep promising that if he gave up the information she wanted she'd let him walk free. Well, limp free, now. His knee was throbbing and his foot was on fire, with good reason, since that bitch had scorched it. He'd warned them there was nothing they could touch him with that would get within a league of rattling a psyche tuned and toned by Lucifer himself, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt like a sonofabitch. 

He should have been faster, better able to stand up against that cattle prod of hers. He'd had worse. A whole hell of a lot worse, but there was a piece missing here that he'd always had as well, even at the very darkest and worst of times, sitting with him in the back of his mind, even in Lucifer's Cage. 

Dean.

The tears smarted, and he made sure to duck his head away from the camera. She was sure to be watching and he didn't want her mistaking this minor break for weakness or any willingness on his part to relent and give her the information she wanted, even if he'd had anything to give her.

Dean.

If he concentrated, he could feel Dean's arms around his shoulders, tight, like they had been in the cemetery for that last hug. Dean standing up on his toes to reach, and that nearly made Sam smile, because after all these years and towering over his brother by nearly five inches, he still ducked down and threaded his arms around Dean's ribs every time, giving over the 'big brother' position gratefully. Size didn't matter to them, never had. Dean would always be bigger in Sam's eyes in so many ways, and he would always be the one to wrap Sam in the safety and warmth of his hugs, shielding him like he had done for years, all their lives.

But it wasn't there anymore. 

That hug had been their last. Sam turned further into the stair rail, hair falling forward in a curtain to hide the escaping tears, shoulders pulling inward around a sob he choked back because he wasn't certain if Toni could hear him, and he was not going to give her a millimeter to work with much less an inch. There were going to be no more hugs, no more joyous reunions, no more snatching back from the hands of Death. Billie had made that abundantly clear, and she certainly wasn't the type to do deals. 

Even if he got out of here in one piece, what was there? There was no more Dean. There was really no point to his struggling here, except his own damn stubbornness, and he almost smiled again, because that would be enough for Dean. Dean never needed a bigger picture. He just wasn't going to break for anybody. He lived for the moment he got free and returned the favor on his torturers. That's all Sam was doing here, because Dean wasn't coming, couldn't come, and there was no knowing what had happened to Cas or how far he'd been flung. Cas would try, Sam was sure, if he was able, but there was nothing between them like the connection Sam shared with Dean—brothers and a whole lot more besides.

_Sammy…_

Sam rolled his head against the splintery rail and cracked an eye. He'd sworn he heard… Well, there was no telling how long that drug Toni had injected would take to wear off. He'd thought he'd hit the peak of the high—if you wanted to call it that—because the voices had been silent for a while and there weren't anymore hallucinations. He got a distinct sense of disappointment and maybe even fear from Toni about that the moment their eyes had met as she'd escaped and slammed the door on him. At least that was a modicum of satisfaction for him.

_Sammy, I'm comin'. I swear to Chuck, I'm gonna find you._

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. More tears. Jesus, he didn't need this. He had to get control of himself. If he let his mind wander off like this, he was definitely going to break. Or go insane. He wasn't sure which yet. He gave his head a shake, peered around the room for more of the accompanying hallucinations, but found none. Just the dregs of the drug a work. That's all it was. He needed to sit here and focus, be calm, get a grip on his breathing, center himself. It was dark outside. He didn't imagine Toni would be back for a few hours at least, so he should rest himself.

_Sammy, don't you give up, you hear? I'm comin'. You hold on._

Sam steeled himself against the flare of warmth the sound of that voice brought, the certainty and promise in the words. But what was the point? He was hallucinating. Or dreaming maybe. It could be he'd passed out on the stairs and didn't even realize it. He felt the closeness of Dean's arms around his shoulders again, the smooth press of his cheek against the curve of his neck.

_Hold on, Sammy. Hold on._

'It's Sam,' Sam whispered into the dark, and let himself breathe out and sink the rest of the way into sleep. 

 

Dean had disappeared almost the moment they hit the bunker. He'd done something with the computer she'd seen earlier, something having to do with tracing the number off that woman's phone, and then he'd just vanished down one of the numerous corridors. Mary had been wandering them for the last twenty minutes in search of him. There wasn't anything she really needed, and when she'd passed the kitchen she'd almost stopped out of sheer hunger, because the coffee from this morning was the last thing she'd had resembling food, but she was concerned for her son. 

He was a stranger to her really, and that was to be expected she supposed, but it wasn't hard to see herself in him, to see John in him, and she felt it, too. She'd never put much stock in the hype about mothers being able to recognize their lost children on sight even decades later, but she couldn't fault the warm clench in her chest every time she looked at him, so she guessed she had to credit it as the truth. 

And her little boy was hurting. 

That was plain as day. She didn't know what kind of relationship she'd expected between her sons. She remembered imaging them doing all the normal things brothers did, playing together, teasing, fighting over toys and girls, grudgingly looking after one another. But the bond they'd built, at least what she could see of it in Dean, went much deeper than what normal siblings shared. She was an only child, so she'd never understood that kind of closeness, but she'd seen it off and on in a few of the other Hunter families her father had deigned to associate with, the way the whole family unit was intertwined and more closely knit than could be considered 'healthy,' the way the siblings nearly clung to one another, never far from each other, always aware of where the other one was, always within reaching distance. She'd pitied them, the kind of life they'd lead—the kind of life she herself lead to a certain degree—that had caused the necessity of such desperate affection. She'd hoped never to have to see her own boys raised like that.

Obviously, she'd failed. 

Her first hint of it had been the deadly tone in his voice when he'd been talking to that British woman on the other end of the phone. She'd heard men make threats before, she'd made a few herself, but Dean wasn't threatening. Dean was promising. She'd seen the way the angel shifted beside her, concern apparent in every feature of his face, like he understood exactly what Dean was capable of and it worried him to see that wrath wholly focused on one poor human. Then he'd broken the vet's phone with his bare hands. It wasn't the strength it took to do it that bothered her, anyone could have managed to crack that flimsy bit of glass and plastic, it was the momentary lack of control. When he'd turned back to them, hands shaking, bits of glass dug into his palms, his eyes had been dark and dangerous, and she could see the barely leashed wrath swirling in the depths. She wasn't going to try and fool anyone and say it didn't terrify her. It did. Even the angel had stepped back. 

So, she might be taking her life in her hands, looking for him now, even if all she wanted to offer was comfort, but he was still her son, and her mother's heart wouldn't let her do otherwise. 

There was a vague sound of murmuring up ahead and she though she heard Sam's name. She moved slowly down the corridor until she came to a door that was slightly ajar. Through the space, she could see Dean's knees where he was sitting, holding something in tightly clenched hands. She was about to knock lightly when a hand caught her arm. She jerked and spun, but it was only the angel.

'Don't,' he said simply.

She scowled. 'Don't what?'

'Don't…interrupt.' 

'Interrupt what?' 

Cas shook his head once. 'I can't really explain.'

'Look, Cas? Is that what he calls you?' Cas inclined his head. 'I don't want to interrupt him. I just want to be sure he's okay. He's my son, after all. I saw that look in his eye after he got done talking to that woman.'

'As did I,' Cas conceded. 'But they have been without you for thirty years.'

'Yes. I know. But now I'm here, and I'd like to help, so—'

Cas dragged her back again when she turned toward the door, and she very nearly considered breaking his wrist except she wasn't sure she could do that to an actual angel, even one she'd seen bleed. 

'Mrs. Winchester, please try to understand. These boys have developed a very special…bond. It goes beyond being mere brothers. The things they have done and sacrificed, for the world and for each other…'

'What do you mean?'

Cas shook his head again. 'It is not for me to explain. Dean and Sam will have to tell you what they choose to, but for now, please take my word and don't go into that room. Not yet. He needs…time to be with his brother.'

'Be with Sammy? How? He's…we don't know where he is yet.'

'Like I said,' Cas tugged at her again, more gently this time, imploring. 'I can't explain. Just give him a little time. He'll come to you. I promise.'

Mary peered through the space again. Dean had leaned forward and she could see a sliver of his face now. There were tears tracking down his cheeks, and she could see a flannel shirt bunched up in his fists, pressed up under his nose like he was breathing it in. His eyes were squeezed shut and his whole body was so tense she was afraid it might shatter at the slightest touch. 

She'd seen people mourn, and she'd seen plenty of grief in her life, but this was something else. There was an intensity of emotion, a nakedness of need, that she had rarely seen and never known personally. When she had seen it, she remembered thinking those people fools for vesting themselves so thoroughly in another person that they became nothing once that person was gone. Is this what had happened to her sons? Had the Life driven them to this kind of dependency on each other?

Dean's eyes suddenly snapped open and Mary's breath caught in her throat, afraid she'd been seen. But he didn't turn her direction, and even not being able to see him straight on, the fire in his gaze sent a shiver up her spine. She fell back a step, and then another, and let the angel guide her away from the door.

 

_He's not dead. He's not dead._

Dean kept thinking it, repeating it to himself, as they drove home, while he set the computer up to trace the number from the dead henchwoman's phone, as he stalked down the hallway to his room and very nearly slammed the door because he wasn't thinking about Mary. Yes, she was there. Yes, she was just back from the dead. Yes, he wanted to compare notes with her and reminisce and all that. But finding Sam was his priority right now. He couldn't focus on anything else, didn't really care about anything else.

He dropped onto the bed, ran his hand through his hair roughly, and finally allowed himself to feel the intensity of fury and loss. He curled inward, chest contracting around an already constricted heart struggling to beat against the pain. 

'Damn you, Amara!' he hissed. 

He should be grateful. He knew that. He had his mother back. The piece of his life that had thrown all the rest of it so entirely and completely off the rails was returned to him whole, at least as far as he could tell, but it wasn't the piece he wanted right now, wasn't the piece he most needed.

_I'm going to give you what you need most._

That's what she'd said, but Dean couldn't have agreed less right now. He needed Sam, warm and safe in his arms. He'd walked away from the knife edge of death and Billie's promised oblivion one more time, decommissioned God's sister, and seen the happy couple off on some long overdue, millennia duration honeymoon, or something of that sort at any rate. He deserved to come back here and find Sam waiting. Maybe with a bottle in his hand, sure, maybe with a conjuring bowl and candles lit and ready to summon a sympathetic reaper, or perhaps Crowley himself, but he'd still be here, alive and whole. 

Instead there was blood on the floor and one more half-baked lead to follow to try and bring his brother home in one piece.

_He's alive. He's still alive._

He wouldn't let himself believe otherwise, and deep down in a warm bright place below his heart, he knew it was true, too. If Sam was dead for good and all, that light would have gone out. He knew that. Somehow he'd always known it. If he'd been in any shape to pay attention a few months ago, he'd have known it then, too, and wouldn't have bothered trying to summon Billie with his own suicide, would never have left Sam lying on that cabin floor in the first place. But his head was still screwy from the Mark, and Amara scrambling his brains, and Lucifer walking around inside Cas, and he'd lost sight of the connection that had always told them where the other one was, that they were alive if maybe not entirely safe, the bond that Dean had relied on almost entirely years ago to know that his baby brother was okay even if he was miles out of reach beneath the California sun.

He sat and stared around the room. It didn't look like Sam had even made it this far before he'd been accosted. His coffee mug was still sitting on the corner of the desk, and his clothes from the day before (Christ, had it only been that long?) were still laying at the end of the bed. He reached for a flannel shirt, that red one that Sam had always looked so good in, especially with the gray V-neck underneath it. He balled it up and pulled it to him, tucking his nose into the soft fabric and inhaling. Sam was all over it, his cologne, a faint smell of fire and gunpowder that never seemed to wash out, and the scent that was purely Sam. That cool water, clean scent like an old forest after the rain.

'Sammy…' Dean pulled the shirt in tight against his cheek. 'Sammy, I'm comin'. I swear to Chuck, I'm gonna find you.'

It was a promise, and he would see it done, just like he'd warned that snooty bitch over the phone. It had been a long time since he'd made a promise like that with the full weight and intent of all of Alistair's training behind it, but he'd meant it when he'd said he'd take her apart. He knew how, knew how to cut her into the smallest of pieces and still leave her alive and screaming, and if Sam wasn't whole and alive when he got there, that was exactly what he would do to her.

He just needed Sam to keep fighting, had to believe that no matter what, Sam would keep fighting. Because that was the real danger, Sam giving up. 

Sam didn't know Dean was alive, even if he could feel it the way Dean did, he'd disregard it as some phantom pain come to haunt him out of spite. Who knew what state he was in with that bitch working on him, what kind of cracks she'd managed to lever open in his mind. It would take a lot to break him, Dean knew that, but that was working on the premise that he was holding out for a rescue, a rescue that all the evidence to hand said wasn't coming, because there was no one to rescue him. His brother was dead.  

'Sammy, don't you give up, you hear? I'm comin',' Dean whispered into the bunched flannel at his lips. 'You hold on.'

A sudden wave of tears slammed into the backs of his eyes. He squeezed them shut, struggled to breathe, focused on that light glimmering deep down. He pressed his face into Sam's shirt, wiping away the escaping tears. 'Hold on, Sammy. Hold on.'

_It's Sam…_

The words came out of the air, unexpected, and Dean's head jerked up, eyes wide. That flickering light flared, blazed, then settled to a steady burn. _Sam._ A hard smile tipped up at the corners of Dean's mouth,

'That's it, Sam. You hang in there. I'm comin'. I got you, little brother. I got you.'

**Author's Note:**

> read part two [Now That I've Found You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8312401%22)


End file.
